


Leave Your Life Open

by ialpiriel



Series: Do You Remember (Sole Survivor Mal) [10]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Amnesia, Androids, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6591232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ialpiriel/pseuds/ialpiriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>f!sosu discovers she's a synth while in the Memory Den, and Curie offers comfort while Dr. Amari offers options</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Your Life Open

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on the [fallout kink meme](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/7011.html?thread=19131491#t19131491)
> 
> this fic takes place within the timeline of another fic in the same series: [This Time Around It’s More Correct](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6855.html?thread=17571783#t17571783). this fic would be located between sections 1 and 2a. this fic can also be read on ao3 [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5773480)

The memory she is staring at is all wrong.

Kellogg helps her down from the cryopod, says something low and soft, laughs as she tries to force a smile, clutches Shaun closer. Across from her pod, Nate doesn’t move.

“Close the pod,” he says to his suited-up assistant. “When the prototype is completed, we’ll be back. That should keep the radroaches out.”

The assistant nods, hangs back as Kellogg leads her--Mal? is that who she is? what is this? This is all _wrong_ , so so so so wrong wrong wrong--up the stairs, walks through where she’s standing, observing the memory. The assistant follows a moment later, after hitting a few buttons, waiting for the pod to initiate reclosing.

“Amari?” Mal calls, voice rising, strangling in her throat so it comes out as just a squeak.

“Hold on one moment, Mal,” Amari interrupts. “There is--”

“This is wrong,” Mal says. “This isn’t how it happened.”

She shuffles off to the side as the assistant followed Kellogg up the stairs.

“This isn’t how it happened. He--He opened up--” and the name catches in her throat, a name she knows, a name she remembers, a name she discarded for others, others who weren't him, him who fathered her child, drew pictures for his nieces and nephews in crayon, him for whom she feels no pull in her chest--“Opened Nate’s pod, and shot him, and then took Shaun. That was how it happened. Not--not this.”

“Mal, Mal, I need you to take a deep breath.” Amari’s voice is rhythmic, an attempt at soothing. “Your vitals are spiking, please calm yourself, I will remove you from the memories. Please, calm down.”

“No, no, it’s all wrong. Who’s wrong? Is he wrong? Am I--” She presses her hands to her face, sucks a loud breath through her nose, sinks to the floor. “Whose memories are wrong, Doc?” she asks, sags so she leans on her elbow on the stairs. Doesn’t uncover her face as she tries to slow her breathing.

“I am studying memory signatures between his memories, your memories, and other baselines and I--I am removing you from this memory sequence, please calm yourself.”

The vault dissolves, and the air is suddenly too close, too warm, tastes like buffout-sweat and fear. New air rushes in with a creak of the glass dome, and she scrambles out of the lounger, drops to her hands and knees to suck great lungfuls of the dusty, splintery air that reeks like antiseptic and radaway.

“Whose memories are wrong?” she asks, lets herself sinks slowly to the floor, stretches her legs out, rests her forehead on her forearms. 

“You’re a synth,” Amari says, voice steady. “A fairly early model, although we have no indication of how early. You _are_ a gen 3. The Railroad has never touched you, I would remember implanting your memories, even if you were gives surgery after.” Amari leans back against the console, chews on one knuckle. Mal doesn't move from where she's stretched out on the floor. “It’s highly likely, then that you are-”

“An Institute plant,” Mal replies. “I’m an Institute plant, but _why_?”

“Depending on when you were out in the vault, you could be here because of the Railroad,” Nick offers.

“I would agree with Monsieur Nick,” Curie pipes up from the couch in the corner, Mal’s general's coat spread over her lap. “With the way you have so easily fallen into the operation of the Railroad, it is highly likely you were placed to infiltrate their ranks.”

“But why?” Mal asks. “They already destroyed the Switchboard.”

Amari breathes in and out through her nose, loud and final.

“You were likely placed in the vault before Switchboard,” she murmurs. “You show physical signs of prolonged inactivity and cryogenic suspension, so you have been in the vault for…” She wrinkles her nose as she thinks, chews harder on her knuckle. “Certainly thirty years, at the very least.”

“Was the Railroad active by then?” Mal asks, rolls onto her back, tucks her feet against herself so her knees stick up, rubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“In a rudimentary form, yes,” Amari agrees, turns to study her terminal.

“So I’m here to get rid of the Railroad. Why now? Why not twenty years ago?”

“I don’t know, Mal,” Amari murmurs. “Perhaps there is something else planned to happen soon.”

“I'm not going to work for the Institute,” Mal murmurs. “I won't do it. I won't. I didn't come this far to give the Railroad up to those--those--” She wheezes, an angry, incoherent noise that climbs up her throat. “I didn't come this far to have it all taken from me.”

“I understand, Mal. This is a shock to everyone.” Amari steps away from her console, rests one hand on Mal’s wrist. “Do you have somewhere to stay for the night?”

Mal nods, sits up, shakes Amaris hand down to her shoulder, leans into the touch. “A room at the Rexford.”

“Go rest for now, I will get in contact with my runner, and you can make a plan from there.”

Mal nods again, rubs at her eye.

“Nick, if you want to go back to Diamond City, I'll be alright. Curie, you're welcome to stay or go.”

“I would much prefer to stay with you, _mon amoureuse_ ,” Curie murmurs. 

Amari stands, offers her hand down to Mal. Mal takes it, hauls herself to her feet with Amari’s help.

“Let's go then!” Mal forces a grin, dusts herself off, puts her hands on her hips.

Curie smiles, sweeps Mal’s coat off her lap, holds it out. Mal shrugs into it and smooths the wrinkles out of the front.

“Take it easy, tonight,” Amari cautions. “There is no reason to rush into any decisions.”

“What decisions?” Mal asks, picks at a loose thread in her coat sleeve.

“As synth, I could offer my services to you as I do to the Railroad, especially with your prior work for them, and your--I assume--desire to continue working for them.”

“I don't want to lose all my memories,” Mal replies. “Even if they’re not _mine_ , they're still mine.”

“As I said, there is no need to make a decision tonight. I will discuss with my runner, and we can present you with your options tomorrow.”

“Right,” Mal agrees, nods, shoves her hands into her coat pockets. “I'll be back tomorrow around lunchtime.”

“We'll be waiting for you then,” Amari agrees.

Mal leads the way out of the Memory Den, Curie at her elbow, Nick trailing behind after he stops to talk to Irma.

***

The mattress sags in the middle, and smells suspiciously like radroach and sweat, but the sheets smell like brahmin-lye soap, and the floor isn't gritty with dust and radiation, and it’s the only sort-of private room in town. The wool blanket is threadbare, but intact, and Mal folds it into a rectangle, sets it at the foot of the bed. She hangs her coat over the back of the chair, starts stripping off armor without a word. Curie sits on the edge of the bed, arranges her hands between her knees, then shifts and leans back on her elbows before dropping the rest of the way to the bed.

“ _Mon amoureuse_?” she murmurs, turns her head to look at Mal's back.

“Mmm?” Mal replies, throws her button-up over the top of her coat, lets her shoulders slump now the she's in just her undershirt and jeans.

“You are….” Curie pauses, “Distressed. You show signs of emotional distress.”

“I--I'm not who I thought I was. It's a lot to figure out all at once.” Mal shuffles to the edge of the bed, kicks off her boots. “I'm not any different, but it’s--it's all different. Everything is different.” She settles next to Curie, drops back on her elbows, then scoots across the mattress and picks her feet up, rests them on the edge of the bed. She crosses her arms over her ribcage, just beneath her breasts. 

“Being a synth is not so bad!” Curie offers, rolls onto her side, tucks her legs up to bump her knees into Mals knee. “It is certainly full of more excitement than existence as a Mr. Handy.”

Mal giggles, rolls over, reaches for Curie, runs her hand down Curie’s shoulder, to her elbow, to her wrist, tugs Curie’s hand to her chest.

“I appreciate your intent,” Mal says, low, soft, full of warmth, “but I don't think that's the reassurance I need right now.” She presses a kiss to the back of Curies hand, across Curie’s knuckles. Curie giggles.

“What reassurance would you prefer?” Curie asks, scoots closer.

“Mmmm,” Mal replies.

She gets up onto her elbows, pills away long enough to turn around on the bed, get her head on the pillow and her feet on the threadbare wool blanket. She throws one arm out, invites Curie in, and Curie follows. She moves to press her forehead into Mal's chest, and Mal drops her arm to block her.

“Against you,” Mal murmurs, scoots down so her head is level with Curie’s chest. “Just keep your arms around me for a while.”

Curie opens her arms,and Mal scoots in, tucks her head under Curies chin, her forehead to Curies breastbone, nose between Curies breasts. She throws one arm over Curies waist, breathe in, once, loud, out, once, loud, then breathes quieter.

“You will be alright, yes?” Curie asks, lifts one hand to comb through Mal’s hair.

“I think so, yeah,” Mal agrees, voice breaking like she’s holding back tears. Her arm tightens against Curie’s side. “I’ll be alright.”

***

She swaggers into the Memory Den, watery beer from CHarlie in one hand, greasy newspaper cone full of fried tato slices in the other. She nods at Irma and keeps walking, breezes down the back stairs to Amari’s workshop.

Amari is bent over the keyboard at her console, and a woman--six foot, easily, muscular as a full-grown yao guai, enough scars to tell a different story about a new mark to every person in the minutemen-allied settlements. She jumps up as soon as Mal enters the room ,Curie trailing behind her.

“You must be our synth. The doc here filled me in on your, uh, unique position.” She holds out one hand. “Name’s Mortar.”

Mal shuffles the beer to her other hand, takes Mortar’s. Her grip is strong, has the arms to lift a minigun effortlessly.

“Mortar like the stuff that holds together walls?” Mal asks, smile creeping across her face and one eyebrow raising toward her hairline.

“More like artillery shells,” Mortar replies, laughs, grins. She’s missing both her front canines. “I guess the wall stuff works too, though.”

“Glad to meet you. You’ll know me better as Fixer.”

“Shit, you’re Fixer?” Mortar throws her head back to laugh. “Never thought I’d meet you in the flesh. Glad to make your acquaintance.” Mortar finally drops Mal’s hand, settles back on the couch, throws her arm across its back. Mal shuffles her beer back into her free hand.

“So,” she says, turns to Amari. “What are my options?”

Curie settles onto the far end of the couch, tucks her feet up under herself. Mal passes her the fried tato after a moment, sets the beer down on the low cabinet.

“There are three options,” Amari says, holds up three fingers, drops them after Mal nods. “First, and simplest, we wipe your memory entirely, give you a new one, and remove you from the Commonwealth.” She holds up one finger.

“I’m not giving up my memories, and I’m not giving up my work for the Railroad.” Mal shakes her head.

“I figured as much,” Amari agrees, chuckles. She raises another finger. “Option two: we do nothing with your memories. There is a precedent.”

Mal shakes her head again. “I’m specifically made to betray them. Not gonna happen either.”

“Option three: we attempt to erase certain memories, and leave others intact.”

“The Railroad memories.” Mal nods, plucks at her shirt collar.

“Exactly,” Mortar agrees. “Anything sensitive--where synths went, where HQ is, what safehouses are where, anything HQ wouldn’t give to a potentially compromised safehouse, gets trashed.”

“That's the option I like.” Mal says, turns her gaze from Mortar to Amari, eyes dark but mouth set.

“It is also the option with the highest chance of complications,” Amari points out. “You could--”

“That’s my choice. I want to do it.”

“You don’t want to know the risks?”

“EIther they come true, and I can’t stop them, or they don’t, and I don’t need to know until I’m recommending it to someone else.” Mal steps closer to the memory lounger, places one hand on the glass dome. “Once I’m in there, I’m in your hands and have no control. Knowing what _might_ happen gets me nowhere.”

“Well, shit, you got a point,” Mortar snorts, crosses and ankle over her knee. She taps her fingers on the arm of the sofa.

“If that is what you wish.” Amari sighs, swallows, turns back to her console. “Please, take a seat. Curie, it would likely be best for you to entertain yourself somewhere else until this is done. It may be a full day before it is done, and there are certainly more interesting things to do in Goodneighbor aside from sit in my basement and watch me tap on keyboard.”

"Here.” Mal shucks off her coat, passes it to Curie. “You can use whatever is in the pockets, treat yourself to a hotel room and a night on the town.”

“I--” Curie starts, looks down at the coat Mal is holding out to her. “Certainly,” she finally agrees, takes the coat and drapes it across her knees.

“I’ll be fine,” Mal replies, bounces on her toes. “I’ve made it this long.”

“That’s the sort of shit people say right before it all goes to shit,” Mortar laughs. “I’m headed out, since I don’t think you’ll be needing a runner today.”

“Good to meet you,” Mal agrees, nods, turns to settle into the lounger. “I’ll pass your greeting up on to HQ.”

“Thanks, Fixer.” Mortar hauls herself to her feet, salutes. Mal taps her forehead back, and Mortar waves as she trots out the door and up the steps.

“I’m initiating the process, please sit back in the lounger.” Amari’s voice is distant, her eyes focused on her terminal. The glass dome begins to descend, and Mal takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and leans back.


End file.
